


Sink your teeth right through my bones

by bonotje



Series: Sink your teeth right through my bones [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Painplay, Play Fighting, as kids, intentional hurting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 00:50:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18021701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonotje/pseuds/bonotje
Summary: I guess it’s more like… like when you’ve got a bruise and press on it. Make it feel worse, but once you take your thumb away from the bruise it feels nice. Like when you twist a string around your finger until it turns blue, the way it feels when the blood rushes back in after you loosen the string. I guess, I guess it’s like that.





	Sink your teeth right through my bones

**Author's Note:**

> Once again I don't really know what to say for myself 😬 Let's just keep it at saying that [this picture](https://www.instagram.com/p/Buivon3gHQe/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) was somehow very inspiring.
> 
> Before you start reading please heed the warnings and make sure you're okay with it, it's a bit of a tricky one.

He’s seven when he first meets Lando, the little five-year-old wide eyed and over-excited to see the cars fly by them as they sit in the grandstand. The noise reducing headphones on his head are askew and his mouth is blue from the ice lolly he just ate and his eyes only grow wider as Max brags about racing. About having his own kart. He’s so full of himself.

 

\---  

 

He’s eight when he first pushes Lando to the ground, the now six-year-old not wanting to let go of Max’s toy car. They’d been playfully fighting over the toy when Max shoves a little too hard at Lando. The little boy doesn’t cry like he expects him to, doesn’t run off to his mum and dad to tattle on him, instead he just lays there staring up at Max with wide eyes, toy clattering to the ground as his grip loosens around it.

 

Max always wins their play fights, the older boy always coming out on top in the unfair fights. But Lando never cries, never complains about losing, but also never goes down without a fight. 

 

\---

 

He’s twelve the first time he really notices the unfair advantage he has over the other boy. He’s noticeably stronger as Lando struggles against the grip on his wrists. The younger boy struggles against Max’s grip, against the weight on his chest with all his might, but still doesn’t complain. Wide eyes looking up at Max like they’ve done so many times over the years, a grimace on his face as he bites back against the pain and doesn’t tap out. 

 

\---

 

He’s sixteen when things change. His body reacting differently to the feeling of Lando’s body pinned underneath him. Lando’s face incredibly close to the the bulge forming in his race suit as he’s sat upon his chest. He’s sure the other boy has noticed as he scrambles off him, his hands covering his crotch. He can’t help but notice Lando do the same though, his hands pressed down over himself hard and his face bright red. 

 

\---

 

Nothing comes off it, both of their lives too busy, both of them too embarrassed about it. Nothing happens until he’s eighteen, the sixteen-year-old pressed up against the door of his driver’s room. 

He has just finished his practice session at Silverstone when Lando comes knocking on his door, the Brit sneaking into the Red Bull hospitality unit. He’s low on energy, but leftover adrenaline from driving around at breakneck speeds is keeping him alive and kicking. Lando is giddy when he walks in, the excitement about being in the paddock during a race weekend still new to him. The atmosphere during Formula One weekends a whole different ball game to what he’s used to in Formula 3. He’s still amazed that his friend is an F1 driver even after more than a year of Max being in the series.   

It’s a little awkward at first, they’d barely seen each other face-to-face in the last two years and while everything was fine when they talked via text messages, something was off now. Some weird tension between them as they both remember what happened last time. Both of them too old to have play fights now, too old to have play fights back then as well. Yet they’d still ended up in that same position they’d been in so many times. Lando’s back against the hard ground as Max held him down, knees pressed into Lando’s sides and arms pinned above his head. 

They’re too old for play fights and Lando isn’t pressed against the floor anymore, his face instead pressed into the door to Max’s driver’s room. There’s that same old grimace on his face though, eyes wide and pupils blown. No words are spoken between them as Max presses his face against the wood of the door hard, no words are spoken as Lando bites back on a yelp when Max jerks his arm behind him, pins it to his back. No words are spoken, but they both know what’s happening, what’s been happening since Max was eight and Lando six. Lando is pliable underneath Max’s hands, an unspoken trust between them.

Everything changes when Max presses his hard-on against Lando’s arse, something they’ve been building up to for years. Something they’ve been waiting for, something they’re done waiting for. There’s a moan falling from Lando’s lips as he struggles against Max’s grip and presses his arse back against him. A sound he’s heard many times before, yet has never heard before. It’s different from the pained moans the other boy used to shower him with, there’s an added layer to it. A layer of lust. Want. _ Need _ .  

There’s a calm look in Lando’s eyes, telling Max that however much pain Lando must be in right now he trust Max to stop when he needs him to. To let go the moment he says  _ stop _ , the moment he taps out. Like he’d done only once before, Max’s knee pressed into his gut and hands pressing his face into the dirt, the choked off  _ stop _ enough to have Max scrambling away from him. A worried  _ sorry _ falling from Max’s lips. The fourteen-year-old gnawing at his lips guiltily, he’d never been told to stop before. Before he’d been able to start panicking about it, whatever this was, Lando had reassured him he was fine, that he just couldn’t breathe and needed to stop. 

Lando doesn’t tell him to stop now. Not when Max presses against his arm until the younger man hisses out a breath. Not when his hand starts working the buttons of his jeans loose, nor when he tugs the dark blue material down his arse. He doesn’t tell Max to stop when he squeezes his hand around the hard bulge in his boxers. And definitely doesn’t tell him to stop when Max works his cock free and wraps his hand around him, a sigh falling from his lips instead. 

It’s rough, like it has always been before. Max’s hands painfully tight around Lando’s wrist and cock. His face pressed into the door as Max presses his own hard cock against Lando’s arse, the stiff material of Max’s race suit the only thing separating them. His head jerking against the door with each of Max’s thrusts. His cock is uncomfortably trapped within his underwear, but he’s already too far gone to bother getting himself free from it, a wet spot already formed. 

He can tell Lando is getting close even before he tells him so, his breath coming in short gasps and body starting to strain against his hold even more. The hand on Lando’s pinned back arm jerks again,  _ hard _ , until he hears Lando’s choked off scream, until he feels Lando’s cock pulse, until cum is dribbling down over his hand. 

He’s not far behind the younger man, the scream nearly tipping him over the edge already. His brain must be wired wrong, but as he thrusts his hips forward again and bites down onto Lando’s neck it’s the pained yelp that tips him over, that has him soaking his pants. 

 

\---

 

He doesn’t know how they ended up like this. How they evolved from childhood friends, into weird fucked up fuck-buddies, into a proper relationship, but somehow they were here now. Lando being announced as a Formula One driver for McLaren somehow the culmination of everything. Of everything becoming real. Of feelings being allowed to get involved. His childhood best friend still making his heart race to this day. 

He’s mindlessly playing a game of FIFA in bed when Lando walks into his apartment, the spare set of keys clanking loudly against the glass bowl by the front door. He can just make the younger man out in the hallway from where he’s sitting. Hears the younger man shuffle about as he takes his shoes off, a soft groan audible as he bends down to take them off. Training must’ve been rough then.  

He waits, eyes trained on the tv, fingers flying over the buttons mindlessly until Lando leans up against the doorframe. His hair is still wet from his shower, shoulders hunched low as he rest his head against the doorframe, clearly exhausted.  

“Ugh, that training session was brutal, I’m already starting to ache.” Are Lando’s words of greeting. He’s rolling his shoulders as if to try and work the ache out of them, another groan falling from his lips as he does so. He looks amazing, eyes squeezing shut as he grimaces against the pain in his muscles. It makes his blood start to rush south, his fingers aching to touch, to hurt. He’s long since stopped worrying about how his brain must be wired wrong, how this isn’t normal. 

“Want me to make it worse?” He asks instead. The question not a normal one, but one that’s normal to them. One that somehow became normal to them. After years of play fighting as little boys. Of play fighting when they shouldn’t have been anymore. Of years when play fighting, became  _ play fighting.  _ And now after months of this, when play fighting started to include feelings. It’s not a normal questions, but it’s not one he’s about to stop asking. Not when he sees the lust appear in Lando’s eyes, still those same wide eyes that have been staring at him for years.  

Lando nods slowly, eyes fiery as he takes in Max’s words as if he can already feel the ache, the torment his body will go through tonight. He’d asked him once, why he got off on getting hurt. Lando throwing it right back in his face, asking him why he got off on hurting him. 

_ “That’s different though. It’s about control I guess. That feeling of playing on the edge, on seeing how far I can go until you make me stop. Is it just giving up control for you?” Max asked. _

_ “No, no I don’t think so. I guess it’s more like… like when you’ve got a bruise and press on it. Make it feel worse, but once you take your thumb away from the bruise it feels nice. Like when you twist a string around your finger until it turns blue, the way it feels when the blood rushes back in after you loosen the string. I guess, I guess it’s like that. The more you hurt me, the better it feels afterwards.” _

It had opened up his eyes, hearing Lando explain it like that. Hearing him explain it with such simple examples, something pretty much everyone must have done before, had settled his mind. The gnawing feeling of guilt he always got whenever he’d hurt Lando like that finally seeping away. He’d always known Lando wanted it as much as him, but knowing the actual reasoning behind it had put his mind at ease. 

“Come here,” he beckons, making the younger man stop the awkward way he was moving about in the silence that had fallen whilst Max was lost in his head. He doesn’t need any more encouragement, his legs settling around Max’s thighs as his lips find Max’s own. 

They kiss languidly, tongues dragging against each other slowly until Max’s fingers press down onto the back of Lando’s neck. Where he knows Lando must be aching the worst, the neck exercises always the most brutal. Teeth bite down on his lip then, a loud hiss sucked in through them. He keeps the pressure there until the sting of Lando’s teeth on his lip becomes too much, his own pain threshold much lower than his boyfriend’s. There’s a familiar sigh then, the pressure of teeth disappearing as Lando looks down at him with dazed eyes. 

There’s a rush of clothes being removed, Max’s broad hands squeezing around Lando’s waist when he lifts the McLaren shirt. Quick fingers working loose the drawstrings on his joggers. He lets the waistband of the dark blue boxers Lando is wearing snap back against his skin, grinning as the man in his lap doesn’t give a shout, just rolls his eyes instead. 

He slips his fingers underneath the waistband again, drawing the material down as far as he can, flipping Lando onto his back when he can’t get them down further. Pulling the boxers free from Lando’s legs he quickly pushes his own shorts down as well, cock jumping to attention as he does so. 

“Going commando I see,” Lando chuckles. 

“It’s my day off, shut up.”

“I’m not complaining,” Lando says with a wink, his hands tugging at the bottom of Max’s shirt until it’s over his head. 

Free of their clothes Max leans down again, kissing with ardor as their bodies slide against each other. Lando’s hard cock is lined up against his hip bone when he thrusts his body forward, his own cock sliding over the dark hairs beneath the other man’s belly button. 

“Where does it hurt,” Max breathes into Lando’s ear once he breaks away from their kiss, hips stilling their movements whilst he waits for Lando to answer. He can see Lando thinking it over, that he knows that saying  _ everywhere _ won’t get him what he wants… needs. 

“My shoulders, thighs and god my neck hurts so much,” Lando groans, Max’s fingers already moving towards his shoulders. He knows where they will hurt the most, his own still a little sore from yesterday, and presses down on the muscle near the armpits with precision. His eyes focussing in on the way Lando’s eyes squeeze shut, how his mouth falls open as soon as he lets go. He moves his hands up a little further, applying pressure to the new spot they land on, waits for the grimace on Lando’s face and then moves further upwards. The way Lando’s face tenses and relaxes with each movement of his hands making both of their breathing speed up. 

“Fuck, feels so good,” Lando breathes out harshly, his face gone slack again as Max’s hands turn gentle on him instead. 

“More?”

“Please.”

“Turn over,” Max says, knows he will need to have Lando on his stomach to get to the worst aches, his hands already on Lando’s hips to help him onto it.

He shuffles forward on his knees until he’s sitting on the backs of Lando’s upper legs, body weight pressed into his sore thighs and cock fitting perfectly into the crack of his arse. Like this he can get to where the neck and shoulder muscles connect, can get to the worst of it. He places his thumbs on either side of Lando’s spine, right between his shoulder blades and slowly starts pressing down harder and harder. Until he has Lando biting into the pillow beneath him, fingers clenched tightly into the bed sheets as he fights against the pain. There’s a sound building in Lando’s throat, pitching higher and higher until he can’t stop the cry from falling from his lips. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Max presses down harder still, just a little bit, until he sees the tears squeezed out from the corners of Lando’s eyes. His fingers move, pressure released and a sob falls from his boyfriend’s mouth. He’s so hard right now, his cock pressed into Lando’s arse, leaking precum onto his tailbone. He thrusts his hips forward a few times to relieve some pressure, cock clinging in between Lando’s arse cheeks as he slides over the crack. 

He waits until Lando has caught his breath a little, watery eyes blinking back open as he waits for Max’s next move. Max strokes featherlight fingers over Lando’s shoulder blades, drawing random patterns until he feels the other man move underneath him, back pressing more firmly against Max’s fingers, urging him on. He continues the languid movements of his digits, waits just long enough for Lando to let his shoulders sink down into the mattress again before he presses his thumbs into his flesh once more. They’re higher up his spine than before, a new spot with tense muscles to dig into. 

He presses down harder and harder, waits for the groan, the yelp and then trails his fingers further upwards again. They’re at the top of Lando’s spine now, where neck and shoulder muscles knot together, where the ache will be the worst. He digs in, thumbs pressing down whilst the other fingers squeeze around Lando’s shoulders. With his fingers squeezing down around Lando’s shoulders and neck he can put more pressure onto the knot of muscles underneath his thumbs, dig them in deeper. 

He increases the pressure little by little, all digits pressing down firmer and firmer. He feels Lando move underneath him, his hips thrusting down against the bed sheets, arse pressing back against his own cock each time he pulls them back up. There’s that grimace on his face again, teeth dug deep into his bottom lip as his eyes squint up at Max, fire licking at his pupils. And Max knows, knows that when he presses down even more, Lando’s eyes will squeeze shut tightly, his bottom lip falling away from the grip of his teeth as a scream erupts. 

So that’s exactly what he does, his hips thrusting forward as he digs his thumbs in even deeper. Deeper until he sees the skin around Lando’s eyes wrinkle up as they squeeze shut tightly, until he feels the scream build up underneath his fingertips. The thrusts of his hips uncoordinated as that scream finally falls from Lando’s lips, loud and full of anguish, making fire erupt in his own body, cock jerking against his arse with each pulse. 

His breathing is harsh as his grip on Lando’s shoulders slackens. The pressure on his shoulders releasing tipping Lando over, with one last thrust down he moans loud and drawn out and soaks the sheets underneath them. 

The room is filled with the sound of their rapid breathing as Max wraps himself around Lando’s frame and presses a soft kiss against his open mouth. He presses his nose into the back of Lando’s neck, breathes in the sweat deeply and then lets himself roll away from him slowly. As soon as he’s rolled onto his back he draws Lando in close, the other man’s head fitting perfectly against his shoulder as he lazily draws his fingers down Lando’s back. He buries his face into the mess of Lando’s hair, presses a kiss there and then murmurs, “You okay?”

“Perfect,” Lando sighs, pressing a kiss against Max’s chest and cuddling in even closer. 

They’re a sticky mess of cooling sweat and cum and he knows they’ll have to get cleaned up soon. That Lando will pester him for a proper massage after their shower and will let him take care of the ruined bed sheets because he’s  _ hurting. _ He knows they can’t stay like this forever, but right now this is good. Maybe even perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> As always kudos and comments make my little writers heart soar. And you can now find me on tumblr at [sleepyverstappens!](http://www.sleepyverstappens.tumblr.com) Prompts are always welcome as well :D


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